


only a cat of a different coat.

by tosca1390



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Were you going to watch?” she asks instead, tilting her head. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I was, but –“</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Come over and watch with me. It’ll be like a support group! A pop culture mass media support group!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. </i>
</p>
<p>Mindy and Danny watch Episode 9 of Season Three of Game of Thrones together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only a cat of a different coat.

**Author's Note:**

> Post-finale. Spoilers for S3 of Game of Thrones, particularly episode 9. 
> 
> Based on [this post, with these tags.](http://ifilovedyouless.tumblr.com/post/52345608298/dondarrion-where-is-my-fic-abt-them-wathcing)
> 
> For Jordan!

*

Mindy is up on the happenings on Game of Thrones. Of course she is; she has a twenty-two year old nerd brother, and she has _eyes_. Richard Madden and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, _hello there_. And yes, she hasn’t read the books. But Rishi has, and Rishi likes to warn her about terribly traumatizing events in all their shared media consumption; it’s like the buddy system. 

This spring, she’s fallen a little behind, what with the boyfriend and the ill-advised almost-jaunt to Haiti. But it’s the first weekend in June and she’s all caught up, ready for Sunday night’s episode (or as ready as anyone can be – even those who _know_ don’t really _know_ ). Rishi has been texting her since Thursday, a bunch of emoticons with dog heads and axes – 

_Where did you find these emojis, the serial killer app store_? She texts as she gathers her paperwork and stuffs them into her bag. The office is slow, being Friday at six in the evening. The support staff has all left; she stayed to catch up on filing, and, well, it’s not like she has anything to go home to. (It’s too early for a cat, it’s too early for a cat, it’s too early for a cat - ) It’s just her and Danny left in the office. He’s been spending long days at work as well, taking a lot of on-call shifts; she thinks something might be wrong with Christina, but she’s not one to pry. 

Well, she actually totally is. But things are strange now, what with her flip-flopping on Haiti, and his “taking it slow” with his ex-wife, and – well – 

She thinks about the night in the doctor’s lounge, his hands on the line of her throat, her jaw, her cheek; she thinks about it a lot. And she’s not sure – she doesn’t know what it means. But she’s trying to figure it out, a la every heroine in a Nora Ephron movie. 

Her phone trills, signaling a text from Rishi. She looks at it as she smooths her hair over her shoulder, the extensions making it feel like nothing changed at all. She could still be the same Mindy from a month ago (but she knows she isn’t. She was so close to changing herself so entirely, all for one guy, that she’s still on shaky ground with herself. Gwen thinks a spa meditation day might be in order. She may not be wrong). 

_Stop it, I’m v. emotional. ROBB STARK, MINDYYYYYY. ROBB STAAAARK._

“Ugh, I get it,” Mindy murmurs, slipping her phone into her skirt pocket. She steps out of her office and peers down the hall. Danny’s door is ajar, his lights are on. Biting her lip, she walks over there and pushes the door open fully. 

“Going home anytime soon, Gramps?”

Danny scowls at her from behind his desk. The blue of his shirt pops against his skin, tanned from outside, she guesses. She’s never thought about athlete!Danny, though he definitely exists, what with the triathlon still fresh in her memory. The idea of him running around Brooklyn in short-shorts creases her mouth into a smile, her throat caught on a giggle. 

“Don’t you have a _Sex and the City_ marathon to get to on E?” he retorts. 

“Please, that’s so 1999. And also, how do you know it’s on E?” she asks. 

Danny sits back in his office chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That doesn’t matter.”

She wants to egg him on, press the tender spot just revealed; but there’s a strangeness still lingering between them, and she can’t make the words rise from her tongue. Instead, she leans against his doorframe and tucks the information in the back of her mind for later, when they’re back to their piece of normal. “I have other television plans this weekend, actually.”

“The Bachelorette?”

“Where are you pulling these titles from?” she exclaims. 

“Whatever,” he mumbles, flushing at the tops of his cheeks. 

She bites her lip on a grin. “If you must know, it’s Game of Thrones.”

His jaw tenses, eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Yeah. And it’s a Very Special Episode, so – “

“What do you mean?” he asks, suspicious and on edge. 

She looks at him curiously, mouth curling at the corners. “Danny, you mean – “

And then she stops. She can’t _ruin_ this for a fellow viewer. That’s not the Lahiri way. Also, it’s just much more fun to see people squirm and panic as the Big Things happen, and she enjoys watching Danny squirm too much to let this opportunity go by. 

“Were you going to watch?” she asks instead, tilting her head. 

“I was, but –“

“Come over and watch with me. It’ll be like a support group! A pop culture mass media support group!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. 

Danny looks at her a little warily. She can well imagine why. It’s been weeks of overcompensating, of feeling slipshod and strange in her own skin, with extensions in her close-cropped hair and hazy memories of a pipe dream with Casey in Haiti. She thinks she’s been trying too hard to be the Mindy everyone knows loves and tolerates, but here, in Danny’s office with terror and anticipation in his eyes, she feels more like herself than she has in weeks. 

“Um – well – “

“Come on. You have very little in your life, and I am a glitter-bombing glamorous spinster. You can’t turn me down,” she says. 

His mouth curls into a cruel little smile. “I do have very little,” he says faintly. “All right. But no themes, no games. I’ll bring beer.”

Mindy pouts, because she’s sure she’s seen a blog post about a Red Wedding-themed party menu, but Danny has that look on his face that she doesn’t want to cross. So she just tells him to show up at eight on Sunday, and it’s a date. 

The stricken look on his face when she says that is more than worth the strange pang in her stomach, the nerves in her chest. 

*

At five minutes past eight, Mindy’s buzzer goes off. She skips to the front door of her apartment and presses the intercom. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Danny hollers into the speaker. 

“It’s also the twenty-first century and you don’t have to yell. These aren’t tin cans and string,” she says. 

“Just let me up for Christ’s sake – “ he mutters as she hits button to unlock the main door, grinning to herself. She has a regular spread out for them – chips, salsa, guacamole, mini pizzas on bagels from a recipe she found on Pintrest, cupcakes from Magnolia, a veggie plate – non-threatening, with no indications of what’s coming. Now, she can only hope he didn’t bring some dreadfully heavy beer; it’s too hot for porters and stouts. 

“We’ve got options,” he says when he comes in, a six-pack in each hand. 

“Sam Adams Summer? Didn’t seem like your type,” she says in wonder as he sets the beer down on her kitchen counter. 

“Thought you’d like it. You’re from Boston, and all,” he mutters. 

“You’re a regular Romeo,” she says flatly. “What’s the other one?”

“Brooklyn IPA.”

She claps her hands together, bouncing on her heels. “The melding of two worlds! Oh _Danny_ , you sentimental fool.”

“Would you cut it out?” he all but growls, pushing up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. “Hey, you look good,” he says, eyes sweeping over her. 

Mindy glances down, as if she hadn’t spent thirty minutes choosing what to wear to a Red Wedding viewing party with Danny, all casual coolness. “Oh yeah? Thanks,” she says, brushing her hair over her shoulders. The coral sundress is light and airy on her skin, grazing her knees and leaving her arms bare. It’s the most refreshed she’s felt all day. “So do you.”

He wrinkles his mouth into a scowl, leaning a hip against the island counter. A white t-shirt collars peeps out of the open buttons of his blue and white striped collared shirt, his neck tan and lean against the fabric. “Whatever. Want a beer?”

“Sam Summer, please,” she says with a smile. “Man, I haven’t had one of those since college.”

“They’re in every bottle shop, Min. It’s not like it’s a rarity.”

She makes a face and flounces into the living room, where E!News is on repeat. A soothing moment of television before the hell that will begin at nine eastern standard time. “I moved onto hard liquor and wine very quickly once I escaped New England,” she calls back at him. 

“You’re missing some great beers!” he calls back. She settles back into the couch, listening as he moves around in the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening and closing, the hiss and pop of the bottle opener in his hand. It’s oddly comfortable. 

“I’m happy with anything,” she says. “I’m an equal-opportunity boozer.”

Walking into the living room, he sits down on the other end of the couch and hands her a beer. The bottle is slick and cool in her palm. She takes a long swallow and sighs. It tastes like summers in high school, those old college parties where she was still awkward and too loud, just embracing the glittery parts of herself. 

“Oh god, what the hell are we watching?” he grouses. 

She slaps his arm and takes a cucumber stick. “It’s just until the show starts. Are you nervous?” she teases. 

Danny swallows his beer, the lines of his neck taut with the motion. She lingers too long watching him, feels the color rise on her cheeks. “They’ve killed or tried to kill so many of the people I like. I don’t think anything could shock me now.”

“Oh god, you’re a Stark.”

He sighs, all exasperation. “I’m not doing this.”

She laughs. “You are so a Stark! All that noble shit, and doom and gloom, winter is coming – did you take an online quiz?”

“No,” he says gruffly, glaring at her. But there’s no real heat in his gaze, and she leans forward towards the food, biting her lips on a smile. 

They eat in silence for a while, news about the Kimye baby and Justin Bieber filling the quiet. The city is alive outside, cars beeping and pedestrians calling to one another in the mishmash of languages and sounds that she’s always loved about New York. She finishes her beer, and without a word Danny gets up and takes her bottle into the kitchen. She hears him opening the fridge, uncapping a new bottle. It’s incredibly easy and soothing. It leaves her a little at a loss. There’s no striving for goodness, no trying too hard; it just is what it is. 

“Thanks,” she says when he returns, taking the fresh beer. 

“So, which family are you?” he asks, glancing at her. 

Wrinkling her nose, she tosses her hair over her shoulders. “I find myself wanting to be a Lannister, without the crazy and the evil. But then, can one really be a Lannister without that?”

He snorts into his beer, balancing a plate of chips and veggies on his knees. “You’re a Tully-Tyrell mix,” he says at last. 

“Oooh,” she coos, brow furrowing. “Why the hell – “

“You’re loyal, and you know how to get ahead,” he says without any more prompting. He eats a handful of carrots and tomatoes, chewing slowly. 

She _hmms_ into her beer. “I’m sure you mean that well – “

“You’re the best of them both,” he says quietly.

Mindy drags her cucumber stick through the hummus, glancing at him. His cheeks are reddened, and he won’t meet her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do with the plethora of information brought to her just now; he thinks of her, and he thinks deeply. 

This is dumb. This is so dumb. 

She smiles and munches on her cucumber. “I’ll take it,” she says at last. 

“I was so concerned you’d fight me on it,” he drawls. 

“Shut up, gramps.”

They eat and chat for the remaining time until the show starts. Five minutes before, because he’s getting antsy, she turns the channel to HBO, just to make sure he doesn’t miss a minute. She can’t stop smiling, and she feels like an idiot. 

She texts Rishi, moments before the episode is to start: _East Coast is ready and raring to go!_

His reply: _:((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( hdu_

“Oh god,” she mutters, staring at her phone. 

“What?” he asks, on his third beer and clearly sweating bullets through nerves. 

“Rishi is nervous,” is all she says after careful thought, because she doesn’t want to ruin it for Danny. 

Danny grunts, sitting back against the sofa cushions. “It’ll be fine.”

“That’s some Mafia confidence you have there.”

“Shut up,” he retorts. 

Mindy just grins to herself and sits back, cupcake and beer in either hand. She’s ready for the next hour. 

*

Wow. Was she _not_ ready for this, or what. 

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Danny moans from his keeled-over position at his knees, huddled into himself like a child afraid of the dark. Talisa Stark is dead, her baby dead with her, and Robb Stark is moaning, and all Mindy can do is rub Danny’s back, feel the ridges and warmth of his back and spine under palm. 

The beer is gone; they had to shotgun it moments ago. 

“It’s okay,” she croons, horrified. But not enough to stop watching; Catelyn Stark is a masterpiece in her grief, and dear god _Richard Madden_ – it’s transfixing in its terror, the Red Wedding. 

“They’ve killed them _all_ ,” Danny groans, voice muffled by his knees. 

“Sansa is still alive! And Arya, too!” she protests. “Also, little broken boy and the baby one, but whatever, cannibals and tree people.”

“Cannibals?” he blurts out.

“Never mind,” she says soothingly.

“Now who will save Sansa?” he says piteously, only the back of his head visible. 

Robb Stark is stabbed, with the Lannisters’ regards, and Mindy winces at Catelyn’s shrieks. “Maybe Sansa will save herself! Did you ever think of that, champ?” she crows. 

“She’s just a girl,” he mutters. 

“She’s a survivor,” she retorts. “Come on, Danny. They’re your family.”

“Min, stop – “

“She’s going to be just fine,” Mindy says fiercely. Because Sansa Stark may be the definition of a lady, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t fierce as fuck. Mindy feels like she and Sansa would be friends, and allies. Also, they’d split Westeros and that would be that. Dany can have her slave cities, since she’s dicking around across the seas. 

Danny sighs, sounds just wretched. “You’re right,” he mutters. “Oh god, oh god – “

It’s been this on repeat for ten minutes, since the “Rains of Castemere” began to play. Danny had perked up mid-swig of beer, and muttered _wait, wait a minute_ , and then _holy shit no no no what no_ and then _FREYS!!!!_ ; then - well, Mindy knew all too well the sudden disappointments of life and television. She doesn’t dare text Rishi; it’s terrible and yet not as terrible as he had read in the books, or so she’s gleaned from him. 

Mindy is just horrified all together. Book-faithful or not, this is _Catelyn Stark._ Nobody kills Catelyn Stark and lives to be okay with it. She wants blood – and she’s not even a diehard fan like Rishi.

“I’m never going to recover from this,” Danny mutters, grabbing at her wrist. 

She is suddenly reminded of the airplane, the flight home from Sante Fe. How she has become a grounding force for him, and vice versa, she has no idea. But she isn’t opposed. She likes it. And she hasn’t thought about Casey or Haiti or anything depressing in days, and that’s partially thanks to Danny. There are extensions in her hair and paint on her toenails, and she likes it that way. 

“You will,” she says, all the while thinking, _sweet summer child_.

It takes him another hour after the episode ends to leave her apartment. They eat all the cupcakes (after she promises not to tell the folks at the office how upset he was), and they kill the half-bottle of red wine she had left over from Gwen’s last stopover. She comforts him, and he groans and tries to scrub the memory of the deaths of Robb and Catelyn Stark from his brain. It doesn’t go well. 

Morose, he thanks her for the food and the comfort. 

“It was nice to get out of the house,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve been – well – “

“I really don’t need to know – “ she starts, waving her hands. 

“Christina left,” he finishes, eyes steady on her. “Again.”

Biting her lip, she links her hands together in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she says, because that’s what friends say. Right?

“I just – I couldn’t do it anymore,” he says, eyes boring into hers. “I didn’t feel like me. I haven’t felt like me in a while, really.”

Mindy leans against her open doorframe and smiles a little bitterly. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

“So this was good,” he says in a rush, cheeks flushed. “So, thanks. I guess.”

Mouth twisting, she tilts her gaze up. “Maybe you can come over for the finale.”

“Yeah. Maybe I can,” he says, scuffing the toes of his sneakers against the hallway floor. 

He leaves, with a kiss to her cheek and a limp, sad wave. Mindy spends the next thirty minutes cleaning up and trying to parse her tragic feelings of Robb Stark’s demise with her strangely fierce affection for Danny in his pain. She thinks of Christina, and how she wishes she’d never come back, if this is what it meant for him. 

She wonders, off-handedly, if he thinks the same for her and Casey.

At eleven-thirty, as she’s heading to bed, she gets two texts. 

Rishi says: _NOT AS TRAUMATIC AS IT COULD HAVE BEEN. WHERE WERE THE MANDERLYS? BUT STILL TRAUMATIC. :((((((((( H8 EVERYTHING._

Danny says: _I’m still sad_.

Mindy tucks herself into bed, and responds to Danny only.

_Lunch’s on me tomorrow, if you’ll pick it up. Does that make you feel better?_

Almost immediately, Danny replies: _A little_.

Grinning, Mindy shuts off the light and falls right to sleep. 

*


End file.
